


the scars you can see

by littlecakes



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Banter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunited lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 15:07:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlecakes/pseuds/littlecakes
Summary: Ravus returns to Insomnia for political work. When he sees Ignis and the devastation the Ring has wrought on him, he doesn't know how to feel.





	the scars you can see

Ravus does not own anyone.

This fact has been made abundantly clear by the years of abusive control he suffered at the hands of the Niffs; if there’s anything that will teach you that you have no control over others, it’s to have someone truly own you.

Still, it doesn’t change the way he feels when he sees Ignis’s face for the first time after a decade of absence.

There’s still the rush, the way his insides threaten to shrink into a singularity just at the sound of his accent, or the sight of high cheekbones barely kissed by soaking wet, ashy blonde hair. Ravus can still remember the way his emerald eyes glittered with fear and then burned bright with confidence as they tore apart Magitek troopers in the rubble of Altissia.

The sight of that magnificent face, scarred to the point that Ravus can no longer see the glimmer of green teasing him from his irises, or the dark look Ignis shot up at him through his eyelashes, is a travesty. He’s torn and shredded up by it, wants to stab and slash until someone tapes Ravus back together.

“Ravus?” Ignis asks quietly, standing behind Noctis.

“Ignis,” Ravus answers, the confidence in his voice wavering ever-so-slightly at the sound of his name rolling off of Ignis’s tongue, like it’s something sweet, something to be treasured. He hates himself a little for how much he enjoys it.

Ignis’ eyebrows, which are scarred and imperfect, twitch in the slightest motion of curiosity. Ravus hates that too, for how much it captivates him in just one moment, because it’s absolutely perfect.

  
  
  


The next time they see each other is just the same. The absent stare behind Ignis’s visor as they shake hands, standing in the atrium of the Citadel, haunts Ravus’ thoughts as the ivory-haired man lies down in the dignitaries’ chamber of the Citadel and stares up at the ceiling. Ignis’ sharp wit and cunning intelligence always shone brightest from behind jade eyes, and the absence of such makes Ravus’ heart hurt.

As he closes his eyes, Ravus tries his best to find his way back in time. If he concentrates, he can still smell the smoke that clings to the salty sea air. He can still hear the clash of his sword colliding with the metal of Magitek armor. He can still feel the magic connecting him to his own Magitek prosthetic, which has long since been abandoned in favor of rolled shirt sleeves and tailored suits.

He can still feel Ignis’ back pressed to his as they dance their wicked dance down the war-torn streets of Altissia. Can still hear the pride, the desperation, the confidence in a Tenebraean accent that’s the only one that really feels like home, though he hears them all the time. The smell of sweat, the taste of salt, the feeling of Ignis’ skin flush with his own. The kiss they shared, one that was heated, full of scornful respect, jumps to the forefront of his mind.

The smirk that not only rested on a perfect cupid’s bow, but also deep in the shadows of emerald irises is there in the past, too. A familiar heat begins to blossom below his navel; that smile has been the centerfold to many of the thoughts that plague him late at night when he’s lost in memories. Lost in a time where everything was so uncertain and now that it isn’t, he’s not sure who he is anymore.

There’s no one to tell him who he is now. There isn’t magic, Scourge, plaguing his veins, his very limbs, claiming him as its own. Only one thing in this world has ever made Ravus feel like he’s something more than just an extension of his sword arm, and it’s gone. It’s lost in a haze created by the very Ring that destroyed so much of himself, both inside and out. Ravus didn’t think it was possible to despise the magic of ancient kings more, but lo and behold, he’s found a way.

The thought leaves Ravus wondering if that tether is gone. He wonders if he’ll have to find his own way to still be connected to this wretched world. The light is here, the Dawn has returned, the world is at peace now, but Ravus isn’t. Now that there’s calm, now that there isn’t a cause he can use as an excuse to lose himself in, he doesn’t know what claims him.

But he wants to. He wants to feel a tether tugging him, holding him down against Eos’ surface just as faithfully as gravity. Is Ignis still that tether, even after all this time? After all this change? Ravus is tired of questions, of uncertainties. There’s a lump in his throat as he reaches for his phone.

“Hello?” Ignis answers, his voice rough with sleep.

Ravus opens his mouth to speak but finds himself lost for words in the harsh quality of Ignis’ voice, lulling him like sweet wine.

“Hello?” Ignis asks again.

“Ignis,” Ravus murmurs. His voice sounds so loud in the large, empty space of the room, though he knows he’s only speaking just loud enough for the receiver to pick him up.

“Ravus,” Ignis mumbles. “What… is something wrong?”

Through gritted teeth, Ravus growls, “I need to see you.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Ignis says.

There’s a silence.

“I’ll be right there,” Ignis says, and the call ends.

  
  
  
  
  


It’s not more than ten minutes before there’s a soft knock at the door. Ravus has been lying spread across the sheets as his mind swims in memory and fantasy alike. He wonders if there will still be that feeling, that tug, when they’re finally alone together. An uncertainty cloaks his mind; he’s not sure if he wants it. He’s not sure if he wants to so easily submit to Ignis, to admit his faults and fears to the man. He should be his own man, shouldn’t he?

The fact that he’s so worked up about it has him more than a little irritated as he rushes to his feet to open the door. Ignis is standing there, dressed, of course, but he’s fairly disheveled given the late hour. Ravus doesn’t mention that he’d missed a button when buttoning his shirt. There’s something about it that makes Ravus’ insides clench.

“Come in,” Ravus says quickly as he realizes Ignis isn’t looking at him, even though he’s facing him and his head is turned in his direction.

“Alright,” Ignis says quietly as he reaches out to feel along the side of the door, but once he’s inside, the large, empty room must be like a labyrinth to him. He’s too proud to ask for help, of course, which doesn’t surprise Ravus in the least. What does surprise him, though, is that he finds himself placing a hand on the small of Ignis’ back, relishing the soft touch of his cotton shirt as he guides him to the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” Ignis says quietly. Ravus can hear the pain in his voice; he knows the proud man sitting before him would love nothing more than to take care of himself. He didn’t anticipate the way his heart would crumble for Ignis this way as he takes in the sight of him perched uncomfortably on the mattress. Ignis’ hands go to adjust his visor in the same nervous manner in which he once fidgeted with his glasses.

Ravus drops to his knees before the advisor. There’s something about being unseen that makes him feel unabashed in his actions. He speaks softly. “Take off your visor.”

“Ravus, what’s the meaning of this-”

“Please,” Ravus whispers, and he hates the pain he can hear in his own voice, knowing Ignis can hear it too. It aids him, however, as Ignis barely hesitates before taking his visor off and holding it in front of him for Ravus to take. Setting it on the nightstand beside him, Ravus inches a bit closer to Ignis to take in the sight of him, bathed in golden light from the tiny bedside lamp.

The hills and valleys of his face are illuminated wonderfully in the light. Shadows creep across his face, highlighting the graceful bridge of his nose, the curve of the brow, the slight pout to Ignis’s lower lip as he sits in wait. These familiar features of Ignis’s face and the comfort they bring to the man kneeling before him are quickly lost as his eyes continue to wander.

Scars, old, yet stark and set deep in Ignis’s porcelain skin, break the symmetry of his gorgeous features. Ravus feels robbed as he sees one across his brow, across the bridge of his nose, striking through the cupid’s bow of his plush lips. It’s yet another thing that the Ring, that the war, has taken from Ravus.

“Are you still there?” Ignis asks quietly.

Now it’s his heart, too, that the Ring has taken from him. Ravus wants to hiss, wants to snap at Ignis for daring to think that he’d ever leave him like this to be alone and vulnerable. “Yes,” he grumbles.

“I just… I expected more conversation,” Ignis wonders aloud. “I thought maybe you might enlighten me as to why I’m in your bedchambers at such a late hour.”

“I…” Ravus starts. “I needed to see you.”

“Miss me?” Ignis quips.

There it is.

The tether.

A curl at the left corner of his mouth. The twitch of a brow, scarred as it may be. Finally, the corners of his eyes crinkle. Though the verdant gaze for which Ravus’ heart ached may be gone, the notion, the gesture is still there.

Ravus can’t take it anymore. He needs to seize it. He needs to feel the tether, feel _Ignis_ , in his hands. He reaches out, carefully, to touch the bottom of the scar that ensconces his right eye. The advisor twitches at the touch, nearly pulls away from Ravus’ fingertips.

“Ravus,” Ignis murmurs, shocked.

“Don’t.”

“Alright then,” Ignis says with another smirk.

The scar tissue feels so different from the warm, smooth skin of Ignis’s cheek. It’s almost rough and there are wrinkles and folds where there shouldn’t be. The Lucian magic truly devastated the beautiful planes of Ignis’s face. Thankfully, they can’t take what’s rightfully Ravus’; the smirk, the smile, the _fire_ in Ignis still burning brightly even after all this time, after all this loss.

Ignis reaches out, his hand weakly searching until it touches Ravus’ side. “Your arm…”

“It felt odd to keep it after everything that’s happened,” Ravus answers.

Another smile teases at Ignis’ lips, though this one is a stark contrast to the playful smirk that just played there on pink lips. This one’s bittersweet- sad, almost. “Are you doing alright without it?” Ignis asks quietly.

“I’m fine,” Ravus answers shortly.

“Of course, you couldn’t be anything but,” Ignis replies.

Ravus almost hates how well the man sitting before him knows his quirks. He would hate it more if he didn’t appreciate it so much, to be known so intimately. His hate, his brashness, his iciness, Ignis sees through it. _How ironic_ , Ravus thinks.

Ignis must be thinking that too, as his lips twitch coyly once again into his signature smirk, and Ravus can’t take it anymore.

The scar on Ignis’s lip feels pleasant against Ravus’ mouth.

Ignis barely utters his name before Ravus quiets him with a gentle, probing tongue, to which Ignis submits readily. Their only other kiss stands at the forefront of Ravus’ memory as he sweeps his tongue into Ignis’ mouth.

That one was fiery, was a struggle for dominance between the two. It was an act of spite just as much as it was of affection. It had ended just as quickly as it had began; the Niffs, the Lucians, the very gods themselves had made sure that the rift between the two of them seemed very much impassable at the time. Though only a moment long, the memory of the kiss, both forbidden and sweet, has lasted a decade.

This kiss is different. There’s a softness to it, one that Ravus is unaccustomed to. He’s not quite sure how to deal with it, but thankfully, Ignis takes the lead as he rests a hand at the nape of Ravus’ neck. His grasp is steady, his hands are warm, and Ravus feels himself weaken a little at the touch. Their mouths slot together so perfectly, and the heat of his lips and tongue flush against his own makes Ravus want for more.

There’s so much time to be made up for, after all. Ten years, long and lonely, have passed since they met so intimately under pressing circumstances. Perhaps then it was an escape for the two of them: from pride, from servitude, from responsibility. Now this kiss is nothing but so many truths that have gone harbored for so long.

Ravus reaches for him and for a moment it’s like he’s adrift, lost in the space between their bodies, until his hands find their way to Ignis’ face. He presses their lips together harder, until his teeth can close down on the soft flesh of Ignis’ lower lip and he can briefly taste bitter Ebony.  Ignis is _trembling_ at the forceful contact, sending a delighted shiver down Ravus’ spine.

“Ravus,” Ignis murmurs in a low voice as he scoots back on his elbows and heels until he makes contact with the large pile of pillows at the head of the bed. As much as Ravus wants to be calling the shots, his heart’s the one that’s guiding him, not the perverse stubbornness that’s instilled in his core. He crawls onto the mattress into Ignis’ waiting arms, allowing himself to relish the advisor’s body heat pressed against his own.

“Ignis…” Ravus says, pausing as he hovers over Ignis, his fingertips twitching at the misaligned buttons of his shirt. “I…”

There’s so much he wants to say. There’s so much that needs to be said. Apologies. Forgiveness. Gratitude. Acceptance. Regret.

There’s so much that he can’t say anything.

“What is it?” Ignis asks, lying against the pillows and turning his head toward the sound of Ravus’ voice.

“Nothing,” Ravus mutters, bending at the hip to press his lips against the column of Ignis’ throat. He can feel his pulse just below the skin, thrumming against his lips. Though his skin is hot and dry, it’s soft, so much softer than Ravus imagined it would be, and it feels so good just to brush his lips against it in endless kisses. Below him, Ignis breath falters, grows shallow, as he runs his fingers through Ravus’ long, white locks.

“If this isn’t alright…” Ignis starts.

Ravus huffs. “What about this doesn’t seem right to you?”

“Yes,” Ignis retorts. “It does seem...” He sinks his fingernails into the bare skin of Ravus’ back before dragging them down gently. “So very right.”

“Ah,” Ravus winces as the trails of Ignis’ fingernails sting and burn. He inhales sharply through his teeth before nipping at Ignis’ throat. “Are you really going to make me say it?”

“But of course, dear Ravus,” Ignis says, practically singing with petulant joy before his mouth closes on Ravus’ yet again.

Ravus sighs, resting his weight on his elbow before resting his forehead against Ignis’ collarbone. Ignis freezes for a moment before placing his hands on Ravus’ shoulders and pressing down, encouraging the larger man to rest against him. It only takes him a moment until he’s fully relaxed against Ignis, his hip pressing against hardness, knowing Ignis surely feels his own hot length pressed against him.

They lie there a moment together, allowing the room to fill with heavy breaths and silences.

“I need you,” Ravus mumbles into the valley of Ignis’ chest.

Ignis’ breath falls from him, the sound echoing in Ravus’ ear like a timpani drum. The sound of life, of living, has never been so satisfying, not even on the brink of death, nor the spark of life, or every other little moment in between.

“Come here,” Ignis whispers.

“I _am_ here,” Ravus hisses.

“Here, you stubborn idiot,” Ignis says affectionately, placing his hands on Ravus’ hips and guiding him until he’s straddling his hips. Those same hands take hold of Ravus’ face and the gentle stroke of a thumb against a cheek draws heat to his face. He’s glad Ignis can’t see him in this moment of weakness, of want, but surely he can _feel_ the way Ravus’ skin grows hot and knows that when Ravus presses his cheek into his palm that it’s not an accident.

Rather than saying anything, Ignis merely pulls Ravus back down into him and kisses his shoulder before sinking his teeth into his porcelain skin. As Ignis sucks a mark into Ravus, he groans and shudders over him. He bucks into Ignis, groaning at the forceful contact of Ignis’ hardness pressing into his own.

“You sound divine,” Ignis croons. “I want to hear more of you.”

“Ignis,” Ravus murmurs, rocking his hips into his lover again and again until the friction of their clothing is too much against sensitive skin. Ravus sits back on Ignis’ hips as he fumbles one-handed with the buttons of Ignis’ shirt, cursing under his breath as his fingernail snags on the second button.

Ignis’ hand moves, silently, to grip the hem of his shirt, holding it tightly in place. With the fabric held securely, Ravus effortlessly slides each button out of its buttonhole. As he moves southward, slowly unveiling the man beneath him, his heart catches in his throat.

The scars on his face aren’t the only ones.

They’re _everywhere_ , streaking across the surface of Ignis’ chest, his arm, even teasing over the top of his shoulder and perhaps down his back, if Ravus could see it. His breath hitches as his eyes travel over them; the skin, reddened and risen, reminds him so much of his own scars. The Ring had much to give Ravus in regards of punishment for his own arrogance, his own dissolutions.

It brings some comfort to know he’s not the only one. Ignis’ scars are marks of survival, of beauty, of selflessness, just as much as his own are. It’s almost silly to think that he abhorred them when he first saw the scars on Ignis’ face. Looking at his face now is like looking in a mirror. The scars, they remind him of who he is.

Truly, Ignis is his tether.

Ravus trails over the scars with his fingers, relishing the way his fingertips catch in the nooks and crannies of Ignis’ marred skin. The landscape of his body truly is a marvel, Ravus thinks, as he rests his palm against Ignis’ clavicle and drags it down the ragged surface. His chest rises below Ravus’ large hands as his breath hitches, and the way his hazy eyes roll back in his head brings a smile to the larger man’s face.

“Gods,” Ignis breathes.

“They’re beautiful. Your scars.”

Ignis smiles as a little laugh catches in his throat. His hands slide from Ravus’ hips up to his ribs, where one stops at his arm. The other tentatively moves up, pausing at the juncture where an arm once was. Ravus wants so badly for Ignis to _feel_ him, feel him the way that he’s felt _him_ and see the same connection in his old wounds as well. To know that he’s not alone in his sacrifices and struggles. He wants it so badly that he takes Ignis’ hand in his and guides it over the scarred valley where an arm once was.

“As are yours,” Ignis murmurs.

A small, wistful smile twists at Ravus’ lip. “You can’t even _see_ them.”

“I don’t need to see to know that they’re beautiful. They simply are.”

Ravus comes crashing down; the regret, the resentment, the questions, the doubt, it all dissipates as their lips collide. He melts into mattress, pulling the man beside him on top of him. From here, he can relinquish, he can take what he needs, which is as much as Ignis will give. The advisor struggles with his belt and fly before shoving his pants down his thighs and wriggling out of them. He then slides Ravus’ sleep pants off with ease.

“Can I?” Ignis asks, as he sets his hands on Ravus’ thighs and squeezes.

Softly, Ravus says, “You’ve gotten this far. Don’t stop now.”

“Right,” Ignis says with a smile. Ravus guides him down for a kiss as deft fingers close around his length. A gasp escapes him, which quickly dissolves into a low growl as Ravus jerks into the touch; it’s been a long time since anyone has touched him so intimately. He never cared enough to remember their faces, their names.

He’ll never forget this, though. The soft light shining on the beautiful scars of Ignis’ face, the rhapsody of breaths echoing through the room, the feeling of Ignis, naked and whole, on top of him. Nor will he forget the way Ignis _feels_ him as if he’s searching every inch of him with his hands, marvelling at the moment just as much as Ravus is. It’s like he’s seeing him, unveiling every inch like he’s scrubbing away the dirt and grime until Ravus is whole and new again.

“May I have you?” Ignis breathes in his ear, fumbling with the trousers he’s tossed to the side.

Ravus murmurs “yes” before he kisses the soft shell of Ignis’ ear down to the lobe and takes it in his teeth. Slick, cold fingers press against his entrance urgently, massaging it until he relaxes enough for Ignis to slip a finger inside. Pressing his face into the crook of Ignis’ neck, Ravus shivers as Ignis stretches and rubs against the tight muscle.

“Fuck,” Ravus moans.

Another finger brings the stretch and burn that Ravus didn’t know he missed. Ignis is careful and precise, responding to Ravus’ quaking body with gentle affirmation and affection. Ravus didn’t know the two of them could be so _soft_ like this, didn’t realize how many feelings had been buried under years of assumed judgments. It’s foreign, it’s alien, yet Ravus aches for it all the same.

Ignis’ fingers leave him open and empty, but not for long. The same hand lines his erection up with Ravus’ entrance while the other skates over the skin of his chest, the scars, and up to his face, where he touches him gently. Hooking his ankles around the small of Ignis’ back, Ravus beckons him forth until he’s pressing into him. The both of them gasp at the pressure and Ravus knows Ignis can feel the smile toying with the corner of his mouth. He bites his lip until the pressure of his teeth in his own flesh is painful.

“Don’t hold back,” Ignis whispers. “I need to hear you.”

Ravus groans as Ignis sheaths himself fully inside of him. He can barely hear Ignis’ breath in his ear ( _perfect_ , he swears he hears him utter) over the pounding of his own heart. Hands wander, explore, touch the flesh they’ve so sorely missed as Ravus waits for his body to adjust to the stretch. It’s hard for him to believe that they’re really here; were it not for Ignis buried deep inside of him, Ravus would think it was a trick of the mind, a hallucination.

Ignis’ body moving slowly against his only roots him further in reality. It’s a sharp snap back to the present. His lover’s length pulling against his rim sends sparks up his spine like it’s short-circuiting and he’s already so far gone he wonders how long he’ll last. Ravus wants to blame Ignis, blame the way he makes him feel, blame the familiarity of his strong yet slender body and its heat against his. It’s the overwhelming _comfort_ of being in the arms of someone who makes him feel whole for once despite the brokenness of his body and his fragmented heart.

A cry escapes his throat as the tip of Ignis’ hardness collides with his prostate. He’s never known Ignis to relent, to slow his momentum, and that’s evident now, more than ever, as he bestows Ravus’ heat with his own brand of punishing affection. Their bodies slide together effortlessly in their sheen of sweat, creating delicious friction.

“Ignis,” Ravus groans, lifting his hips up into Ignis. He takes the opportunity to lift Ravus’ hips with his forearm and hold him there as he thrusts into him. The angle is even better before, and now every stroke is reducing Ravus to a shaking, groaning mess.

He’s never felt more aware than he does right now. Ignis’ graceful form, united with his as it looms over him, pins him to the surface of the mattress. With every stroke, he’s caught up in a riptide of pleasure, one he’s inching closer and closer to succumbing to. The way Ignis relentlessly fucks him as he clings to him tightly is like a promise that they’ll get there together.

Ignis’ fingers sink into his thighs so firmly Ravus can see the color leave his knuckles as he holds him tight in his grip. He can feel his lover start to shake, see the crease between scarred brows as Ignis begins to lose himself in the throes of ecstasy. Ignis reaches around the thigh hooked on his forearm to stroke Ravus in time with his own thrusts and the pleasure coils within him like a snake, ready to strike.

“Ignis,” Ravus hisses, as he paints Ignis’ fist and his own stomach with stripes of come. He can feel Ignis coming, too, as his muscles flutter and clench around his shaft. Collapsing on top of him, Ignis twitches as he spends his release inside of Ravus.

  
  
  


The light streaming in through the half-drawn curtains wakes Ravus with a start. He doesn’t remember falling asleep last night and for a moment, worries slightly at the thought of Ignis slipping away in the night.

“I’m here,” Ignis says softly.

There’s a hand at Ravus’ back and it’s then that he realizes that he’s resting his head on Ignis’ chest.

“How long have you been up?” Ravus asks wearily.

Ignis hums. “Awhile. Since the sun came up.”

Ravus pauses; he doesn’t know how to ask.

“I can see the sunlight. It’s like when you look at a light with your eyes closed.”

“Ah.”

“Not terribly fascinating, I know. But the sun still wakes me.”

Ravus finds some comfort in that, knowing that Ignis isn’t totally lost in the dark. There’s a warmth on his face and he’s not sure if it’s from the sunlight or Ignis pressed against him. A silence hangs heavy in the air, though it’s not unpleasant.

“Will you tell me why you called me last night?” Ignis asks.

Ravus rolls away from him to face the midnight-black walls of his chambers. He knew this was coming, the question, though he doesn’t know if he can answer it. Ignis is patient, of course, like he always is.

“I saw your scars.”

“Everyone does. Well, almost everyone,” Ignis says, with a chuckle that almost sounds bitter.

“They made me wonder… after I’d lost so much- after we both had lost so much. If things would be the same.”

He feels Ignis’ arms wrap around him and scarred lips tease at the nape of his neck. “Dear Ravus, things can never be the same as before.”

“I know that,” he hisses. “... They haven’t changed, though.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps they have. Simply put… we must treasure that which we hold close.”

“Agreed.”

“For once,” Ignis quips.

“Gods, you’re so _full_ of yourself,” Ravus sneers.

“You were too, if I remember correctly.”

“Come here, ass,” Ravus growls, pulling Ignis into a fervent kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, bookmarks, and sacrifices to your favorite ancient deity are always appreciated.
> 
> Shoutout to [Hope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopmopingstarthoping/pseuds/stopmopingstarthoping) for her wonderful beta work, as well as my friends Butterfly and Zen for the support as I endeavored/angsted over this fic for like the last 72 hours.


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